Le Diable
by Bailin D. Mercedes
Summary: CAUTION :: This story contains Michael Myers using dialogue. To know why I let him, read the rant on my bio. If you don't like it, don't read the story.
1. Total Sense Deprivation

Alright, here's a little background for you. ^^;

                At the end of Halloween: Resurrection, Michael opens his eyes. Oo; Well, this story picks up a few months after that, assuming that he rose again, tried to kill a few people, and was imprisoned. Yes, lazy job on my part, but convenient, nonetheless. I don't own him. Duh. 

Oh, and the Curse of Thorn (Thurisaz) gives him regenerative powers, which always restores him to his 21 year-old body. How handy.

                Michael's clan is not the only one in existence. There's a whole race of Druids living in our world. Also, Michael isn't the only one with the curse – or blessing – of Thurisaz. One in _every_ tribe is afflicted by it. And they all have different personalities. Now, there's a war breaking out between Michael's clan, the Jerai, and another, the Arkinaz, but without Thorn to protect them, the Jerai are sitting ducks, and no one wants another clan to fade into extinction. So the Druid Council has decided to take steps. They're sending someone in to make sure Michael gets his job done…

                Two pairs of footsteps echoed over the linoleum tiles. The third pair led them in silence, shoeless for reasons we, the readers, can only assume to be either stealth or comfort. The guards that flanked her were obviously personal, as they wore casual black slacks and blazers. Both were wiry and lean. Both kept close to their charge.

                The hallway was predictably cold and dark. The only thing unusual was the silence. One does not expect such death-like silence in an asylum, but this was no ordinary floor level. This was Purgatory, and most of its participants were already halfway to Hell. If any patients above them were screaming or raving, the sound didn't penetrate this particular dungeon. A camera, strategically placed in an adjacent hallway, bleeped at them idly as they passed. 

                "They have him on medication now," the leader announced in an amused voice, as the small group turned a corner and proceeded down a particularly foreboding stretch of hall. She was scanning the contents of the manila folder with a small flashlight. The guard on her left flank smirked.

                "Triazolam?" He asked. She shook her head.

                "Thorazin," she replied.

                "That's a little old-school of them, don't you think? It hasn't been used since the early eighties," said the second guard. The woman shrugged.

                "Loomis put him on Thorazin. It was the last noted medication on file. I doubt any of them were willing to get close enough to find out whether or not he could take the newer medicines." The hallway dead-ended with a single, solid iron door. Beside it, mounted on the wall, was a small keypad.

                The first guard stepped up. He pulled a small notepad from some unseen pocket, flipped it open, and punched in a ten-digit pin number. The keypad beeped softly.

                The iron door heaved open to reveal a small entry chamber, supplied with a metal detector, several rows of ready-to-use syringes, and a handgun. Clearly, Michael Myers was not a charge to be taken lightly.

                The woman removed her white overcoat and tossed it to the ground. All that remained on her was a simple black outfit. In the gentle light of the tiny halogen bulb suspended above their heads, one could make out another door, this one with a small screen-like window placed in it, and a slightly smaller keypad. The screen was blank.

                "TSD," she murmured darkly. "He's not going to be happy."*

                "What were you expecting?" Joked one of the bodyguards. She chose not to answer. Instead, she reached out to the second keypad and punched in a seven-digit pin. The flat-screen on the door came to life. It shone deep blue for a brief moment, and then faded into pitch black once more. The halogen light snapped off. Several seconds passed as the three shared a brief moment of pitch darkness, and then a new set of lights rose into existence, creating a gentle glow within both the entrance room, and the inner chamber. Words flickered to life on the door's screen: ANTI SENSE DEPRIVATION INITIATED. PROCEED WITH EXTREME CAUTION.

                "Thanks for the warning," without hesitation, the woman reached for the door handle and pulled it open.

                It seemed to go unquestioned that she should enter alone. Her bodyguards stayed within the comforting safety of the entrance chamber as she entered Michael's prison.

                He was in a full-body straight jacket, sitting in a reclined position on what looked like some sort of dentist's chair, only this one came with restraints. Her eyes had already grown accustomed to the light, but his had not, and he had them squeezed shut. The room couldn't have been more than twelve feet in length and width. He was stationed in the exact center, facing the doorway.

                "So it has changed you," she murmured, taking several steps closer as the door shut with a soft 'thump' behind her. The lines around Michael's eyes relaxed slightly as this new sense caught his attention: either her voice or her heartbeat captivated him quite suddenly, and he grew stone-still.

                "No, I'm not going to tell you who I am. Not yet. I want you to know why I'm here, and I have a great deal of talking to do, so prepare yourself. I'm sure it hurts. You haven't heard a human voice in years." She circled around him once, and though his eyes were closed, his head followed her movements precisely. "I'm here because a war is about to start between two very old Druid tribes…and one of them doesn't have their Thurisaz for protection." At this, Michael's eyes shot open. They were dark, fathomless, and any measure of other sinister words you might choose to describe what the abyss of Hell must look like. Those large eyes trained upon her intensely as she completed her second round. She stopped at his side and looked down at him with an eerie smile.

                "You have not completed the task assigned to you, Michael. If your people are attacked, they stand no chance. They will perish, and with them, so shall you." She leaned closer to look into his eyes, his unmarred young face. "My name is Akavi Perthro." She stood back up. "Not that this should ring any particular bells for you, of course. I don't expect it to. You and I are very much alike. We share the same common goal." Michael's eyes narrowed at her, expressing, in that one gesture, a world of opinions. Akavi Perthro laughed sharply.

                "Yes, we do, actually." Her eyes, cold as steel, flashed in the light as she leaned forward again and pulled up her right sleeve. There, on her inner wrist, Thorn, the rune Thurisaz, was branded. Michael's eyes fell on her wrist and stopped blinking. "However, we are very different people. As you can see, I'm still free. You are not. That is because, while your methods of 'getting the job done' are more quick and effective, my method of completing Thorn's work is more subtle and indirect — and, I might add, quite a bit more satisfying." She gave him a dark smile. "I cannot describe to you how rewarding it is to watch someone tear their own face off. With a fork."

                Michael blinked at her. He tilted his head curiously.

                "Thorn has given you regenerative powers, hasn't it?" She mused. "Of course it has. You've been killed numerous times. You've been completely motionless for three solid years, and yet your muscles have not liquefied themselves. You're probably twice as strong now as you were when they brought you here."

                "I've only been killed once. It was a very enlightening experience." She touched the thin white scar on her neck, which, at close inspection, stretched from beneath one ear, across her jugular, and past the opposing ear. Michael could hear her sharp intake of breath as she winced. "Hurt like hell, of course." This time, when she reached the end of her circle, she leaned over him and looked directly into his eyes.

                "Tell me what—"

                "Akavi!" The guards appeared at the door suddenly. "An attendant is on her way down here." Akavi raised an eyebrow.

                "Kill her, then," she replied nonchalantly. She started to turn back to Michael.

                "She's got Silvyn with her," at this, Akavi froze. Her wide eyes panned back to Myers, who watched her with his characteristic intense blankness.

                "Are you _sure_?" She demanded sharply. There was a tone of stress in her voice now that hadn't been there before the mention of this mysterious "Silvyn".

                "Positive."

                "How long do we have?"

                "Five minutes, tops." Akavi whirled around and put her face very close to Michael's, and when she spoke, it was in a low, hurried tone.

                "I have been charged with the responsibility of making sure that you get your job done." Michael tensed visibly. He didn't appreciate that comment. His eyes narrowed at Akavi, who tilted her head at him with obvious exasperation.

                "I was told to do so by the Council, of course. Who else has the power to order the Children of Thurisaz around? They really _don't_ like it when the clans start destroying each other." Again, Michael tensed. And again, Akavi tilted her head. This time, she also laughed. "Your war is being fought against the Arkinaz –Silvyn's tribe – not the Perthroi. I have no part in it; I will not betray you." She pulled back a bit. A switchblade flashed in her hand. In moments, the thick leather straps which held him down were halfway severed, and the belts which held his straight jacket were severed completely. She hovered close to him. Moments passed in motionless silence. Michael looked directly into her eyes. Akavi grinned. "I'll leave the rest up to you, then. Give that old bastard a run for his money." She laid the switchblade behind his left shoulder, close to where his right arm was crossed over his chest. He gave one small nod.

                Akavi stepped back and turned, making for the exit in silent footsteps. When she reached the door, her companions hauled it open for her. She gave one last glance back to Myers. "I'll be checking up on you," she teased darkly, and then she was gone.

***TSD**: Total Sense Deprivation. Oo; Well, you wouldn't be happy either if you were stuck in a small room for three solid years without sense of smell, hearing, taste, sight, and touch, would you?


	2. The Council

                Once enclosed in the entrance chamber, things accelerated rapidly. The bodyguards quickly reintroduced Total Sense Deprivation, locked both doors, and were walking at a rapid speed back down the hallway within minutes. Akavi glanced back at her guards.

                "Take off your shoes," she commanded in a sharp whisper. They complied immediately, pulling off their shiny black shoes and transferring them to one hand, all without missing a step. They continued in silence for a moment, turning the corner, until they heard the footsteps of the approaching persons. Without a word, all three dodged through the nearest doorway and closed it softly behind them. They waited.

                "—court appointment date is three weeks away. He shouldn't be kept this isolated. He might have a fit if he's near so many people all at once." The voice was that of a female. A young one. The man who responded was much older, and his voice had a distinctly dark tone in it.

                "Have you ever seen him have a fit, woman? You've thrown everything you've got at him, and he hasn't so much as blinked. When his court date comes, I either want him so full of Thorazin that he can't breathe, or dead, whichever comes first. He's not getting out—" Silvyn's voice faded into silence as they continued their trek. Akavi threw the door open and started back towards Michael's cell, where Silvyn had been heading. Luckily, her companions anticipated this, caught her before she could start running, and hauled her towards the exit.

                While they were on their way out, Akavi decided to start cursing at Silvyn. She delved deep into her vocabulary to produce many colorful insults. This highly amused her bodyguards, or, as they should more accurately be called, her only-slightly-less-skilled partners-in-crime. They all but carried her out to the car, locking the doors to ensure that she didn't try to escape to go bludgeon Silvyn to death.

                "Let's pay a visit to the Council, Cain. The Arkinazi weren't supposed to know where Myers was being kept," she growled once they were on the road. The one named Cain, who happened to be driving, smirked wryly.

                "Myers can take care of himself," he replied. Akavi narrowed her eyes.

                "That's not the point. This is supposed to be relatively controlled slaughter. We can't have the Jerai being wiped out."

                "They won't be," argued the second, a man who, though we haven't been told so (and are being informed of solely for the purpose of my writing convenience) was named Feran.

                "You don't know that," Akavi muttered darkly.

                "Myers didn't seem too worried," he retorted.

                "Well, you weren't the one talking with him, were you?"

                "He wasn't talking!" Cain accused. She laughed.

                "Yes, he was. You just weren't listening." Cain frowned, but he didn't answer.

                "I didn't hear anything," Feran interjected innocently. Akavi heaved a heavy sigh.

                "He's telepathic," she muttered, "and he _was_ worried – or, at least, as worried as he _can_ be. He doesn't have a very large capacity for emotion. Most of his thoughts are blindingly neutral, so he doesn't see things as wrong or right or caring or murderous, he just makes note of them. He didn't ask why he was told to kill, he simply observed the fact that it was he who had been chosen for it."

                "Quite the opposite in your case, though, right?" Cain raised an eyebrow at her in the rearview mirror. Akavi smirked. She knew he already knew the answer, but she decided to say it anyway.

                "Oh, I knew it was wrong to kill. I simply enjoyed it too much to stop."

                The Council was comprised of five very old, very powerful men and women. All of them were Druid High Priests. They sensed Akavi's approach long before she gave any sign of her presence. The only ones who were surprised to see her were the other priests, the followers, who milled through the temple for their entire lives, in hopes of achieving High Priest stance. They recognized her status, for the most part, and left her alone. Some of the younger ones confronted her. They retreated as quickly as they approached.

                "You informed the Arkinaz of Michael's location," Akavi accused the moment she entered the Council's meeting chamber. Her bluntness came as no shock to the weathered leaders. They, and when I say they, I mean all of them, as if they were one unity, sighed.

                "We permitted his location to be made public," said an ancient old man sitting in the center of the table. Akavi narrowed her eyes sourly.

                "Are you trying to get Silvyn killed?" She demanded sharply. A small grin crawled over her lips.

                "You seem confident in Thorn's power," the old leader observed neutrally.

                "You underestimate it," Akavi murmured. Another of the leaders stood, a woman this time, with braided white hair that seemed to glow in the dim light. She had an air of bluntness about her that Akavi knew all too well, but the look she gave the child of Thorn was one of kindness and warmth.

                "Leave, Akavi. You know we are not permitted to give you the answers you desire." Akavi frowned. For a brief moment, she looked like she might argue with the leader. She certainly wanted to. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't. They could silence her with a wave of their hands. By asking her to leave – telling her, really – they were actually being considerate.

                Akavi left the temple with a tempest brewing over her head. She jumped into the car and slammed the door behind her. Feran glanced back uneasily as Cain pulled out onto the road.

                "They always manage to avoid giving direct answers. They're always so damn _cryptic_."

                "Yes?" Cain replied as if to say "you _didn't_ already know this?" Akavi rewarded him with a dark glare.

                "They dismissed you," said Feran. It wasn't a question.

                "They always do. They know how to get under my skin. I hate being waved to the side." That said, she crossed her arms and sighed.

                "Where to, boss?" Cain glanced casually over his shoulder, flashing Akavi a grin.

                "I'm not in the mood for errands. The Jerai will get wind of this, and they'll take care of it, however timidly. They're walking on thin wires anyway, but if I step in personally, it'd just be another insult to their authority. Or what little of it they have left."

                "Michael's return will change that. The Jerai were once the most powerful clan in the world."

                "And because of that, they're too damn arrogant for their own good. And choosing a vessel of Thurisaz when they _knew_ how violent and fierce he'd become was an act of downright idiocy."

                "Maybe they just wanted to get the job done faster," suggested Feran.

                "Or maybe they're too inbred for their own good," suggested Cain.

                "Either way," continued Akavi, as if she'd heard nothing from the boys, "they'll get answers from the Council sooner or later, so we're not going to bother with it."

                "Alright, so… Where to?" Asked Cain.

                "Haddonfield."


	3. Controversial Thoughts

Favorite chapter so far. ^^ Michael's outlook is wonderfully accurate, I think. No offense to any Illinoians, btw. I target ALL children-from-hell, I'm not state-selective. ^^

                Children. They were everywhere. Scurrying about, through yards and streets, skipping through playgrounds. Everywhere but the damn sidewalks. Ugly little buggers, too, not the usual, acceptable bunch of cheerful, naïve, middle-class second-rate offspring so commonly found in Illinois. These were nasty, jeering brats, raised by television to believe they were better than everyone else, even their own parents. There weren't very many of those. The adults of Haddonfield, it seems, had long ago thrown their hands up in disgust and frustration, and receded back into their quiet, temporarily child-free homes, hoping that the next screeching of tires and blaring of car horns might bring about an abrupt and ever-so-welcome end to the life of the pain in the ass that was their child.

                Michael grinned. He was very fond of being telepathic. The best part about it was that he could hear thoughts most people weren't even aware they were thinking, thoughts that dwelled deep within their core that went against everything modern society had drilled into them for years in hopes of making them into respectable little American drones. Thoughts that were pure and primitive. Thousands of years earlier, in the age of the Nomads, parents had slain offspring that didn't meet up to their standards. Such was life to them, and no one had any use for a man or woman who couldn't hunt or gather firewood.

                But sniveling, useless brats littered the streets in front of him, unchecked and undisciplined. He was half-tempted to simply barrel through them, perhaps even aim for some of the nastier ones, but then he recalled modern laws. The moral ones would never allow the massacre of young children go unpunished, no matter how welcome the onslaught. What a pity.

                 Michael drove for what seemed like days, around blocks, through all the streets in town, miles out into the country. He drove until he was satisfied with his knowledge of the area, and to be more direct, he drove until he got tired of driving. Dusk gave way to a bitterly cold nightfall. Almost instinctively, he found himself heading down the road towards his old home. He had to catch himself before he realized that he'd already driven by it at least five times. His house wasn't there anymore. It was nothing but a pile of charred rubble. He parked on the street in front of it and sat there in silence.

Memories started floating to the surface of his mind. Memories he hardly remembered experiencing, and they'd occurred only a handful of years before. As he stared at what was once his home, but he wasn't really looking at it. Se smelled the reek of the sewers again, tasted the blood of rodents on his tongue, and shuddered. At that moment, he made a firm choice not to go back to his old habits; he had no desire to return to the sewers again. In fact, he was repulsed by the very idea.

                How strange. A few years ago, he hadn't had a problem with living off rats and going for months at a time without seeing the light of day. But now, it was as if something had reawakened inside of him that hadn't been conscious for decades. Vaguely, and not very willingly, he realized that it was some strange semblance of humanity. It puzzled him. Suddenly, he was wondering how and where he could find a real bed, and perhaps real – cooked – food. Suddenly, he was appreciating a simple, yet orgasmic sense of freedom from the hellish prison they'd kept him in.

                He'd even noticed how smoothly the car drove. It was a nice, sparkly white BMW, and it moved almost as if by thought rather than by command. The woman he'd procured it from had been very reluctant to give it up, and now he knew why. Of course, that didn't change the fact that she was currently rotting in an elementary-school dumpster, and unable to effectively protest Michael's little joy ride.

                His thoughts suddenly grew quiet. Another idea, unwelcome as it was unnerving, had burgeoned into his head. Was it Akavi who had brought out this new sense of humanity within him?

                It seemed absurd of him to think so, but nevertheless, he couldn't get the thought out of his head. Hadn't Michael always assumed he was the only one endowed with Thorn's magnificent power? Had he not always held a heavy resentment against his clan for burdening him with this? He'd known that other Druid clans existed, but to put it frankly, the possibility of others under Thorn's powers had just never occurred to him. Perhaps he was being selfish.

                Not that being selfish had ever really bothered him. Not that he'd ever really had the problem of contemplating his self-possessiveness. He purposefully closed his mind from these thoughts. He didn't like doubting himself. If he did that, he'd never get anything done. Cautiously, he let his mind shift. It was like he wasn't in charge of where his train of thought led him. And it led him right back to the real subject of his attention. The woman named Akavi Perthro, whose mind burned with evil thoughts, and at the same time, pondered ancient mysteries. He could still smell her flesh, her hair; still hear the cynical lilt that poisoned her smooth voice.

                How strange it had been, to see Akavi standing over him like some kind of dark, fierce angel. To hear her voice pounding through his head, into his mind, down into a core in which no thoughts had stirred in what seemed like eons, and igniting it in liquid hot fire. She had reawakened within him the desire to live, if not just for the one purpose that Life had ordained to him. And perhaps more.

                Ah, yes, _this_ was why he'd avoided women for so long. They were a distraction, from both his duty and coherent thought.

                Even _thinking_ that made Michael frown. He disliked sounding so… chauvinistic. But what could he say? That the beautiful and extremely tempting Akavi _wasn't_ a distraction? He disliked lying to himself almost as much as he disliked doubting himself. And he wasn't entirely sure he was attracted to her, anyway. In fact, he wasn't sure he _could_ be attracted to her. Thurisaz liked to be neutral, and it often passed that trait on to its children, and unless they were already equipped with extremely strong opinions, they usual conformed to the neutrality Thorn so eagerly bestowed upon them. That was how it had been with Michael. A six-year-old isn't the most opinionated of creatures in the world.

                But Akavi obviously had opinions, and very big ones, and very loud ones. Peace-keeper or not, she was definitely a force to be reckoned with. Michael wasn't exactly sure he wanted to reckon with her. Maybe he just wanted to fuck her. Maybe Thurisaz disliked having his children engaged in fights over dominance. Maybe she held an allure in just being mysterious that attracted him, teasing him with her secrets.

                Maybe he was still fucking human, despite all his efforts to _not_ be.

                He really didn't like that last 'maybe'.

                And he _really_ didn't like what happened the instant he thought it. Someone tapped gently on his window with the tips of their fingers. Michael snapped his head around to find, as cruel irony would have it, Akavi Perthro staring down at him with a smirk. If anything reinforced that human 'maybe' it was the fact that he hadn't been paying attention, he'd let his guard slip, and when he'd seen Akavi, the ultimate breach of his protocol was shattered, and his dark eyebrows knitted together in surprise, and a frown creased his lips. For a second, he contemplated driving off, but instead, he rolled down the window.

                "You've been sitting here for hours," said Akavi with a smirk. But it was the same smirk she'd had at the asylum, like more of an impersonal sneer meant for the world in general. She didn't seem to acknowledge his facial expression, as if she knew he'd be more comfortable if she ignored it. Or as if she'd been expecting it. He cursed her silently in his head.

                She raised her eyebrows.

                "Don't like surprises, do you?" She let her gaze wander down the length of both streets. "But that doesn't mean you don't enjoying giving them." Michael leveled a glare at her.

                "You think you know me," he murmured in a voice too silky for how rarely it was used. Akavi laughed, but it was a gentle laugh; she'd been caught off-guard by his voice. Good.

                "Know you, Myers? I _am_ you. In every metaphysical sense of the phrase. We're both children of the same rune, and that means that not only were we born with certain innate qualities, but we were raised by the same 'master', of sorts. I have every capability you do, and that includes butcher-knife-wielding. I simply chose other… resources." Why was it every time she opened her mouth, she ended up saying so much wonderful information? Was she programmed to be this distracting all the time?

                Michael didn't chastise himself for being sexist this time. For some reason, he was angry with her. No one had ever had the upper-hand with him, and he was beginning to think that going for half a century, completely unchallenged in dominance, had spoiled him.

                Akavi let Michael do his thinking as she surveyed the wreck that had once been his childhood home.

                "Come with me, Michael," she said suddenly. It wasn't a command, it was a warm suggestion. Almost a plea. It sounded _wrong_ coming from her. It didn't belong. But then, Michael didn't know her at all.

                "Where?" She hesitated, blinked, looked semi-puzzled for a brief moment.

                "Somewhere safe."

                A long time ago, Michael might have laughed at that statement. Where could he possibly be safe from that which he truly sought to escape?

                He thought about voicing these opinions, but the words died in his throat. It seemed Thorn wasn't up for arguing, and it didn't want him to, either. It locked his voice down and forced her words to repeat themselves over again in his head. This time they held for him an undeniable charm.

                "Safe?" He replied slowly. Akavi nodded impatiently. Michael couldn't really blame her; she _was_ standing outside in frigid winter temperatures, not to mention a vicious wind-chill. Not for the first time, Michael wondered what her skin would feel like beneath his touch, so cold, and hot, and soft. He hated himself for wondering, but that didn't make it stop. He was a man, or at least, had been at one time in his life, and as a man there were certain – or to be more blunt one could say _many_ – things about Akavi that Michael found very, very nice. As a man, he thought she was perfect. As Michael Myers, she was a threat. These were definitely _not_ two opinions that mixed well within the same person.

                As Michael's thoughts began to argue with themselves, Akavi began to grow more impatient. He watched her walk around the front of the car and slide in the passenger seat. Part of him wanted to kill her, then and there. He _hated_ presumptuous people.

                But part of him just wanted to sit there and stare at her, touch her, perhaps. Kiss her. He hated that part of him, it made him burn with anger, that he was letting himself think these things. Or maybe he was angry because he'd never had the _problem_ of thinking those things, and Akavi brought them out in him.

                She noticed him staring coldly at her and gave him a bitter smile.

                "You were taking too long to decide." She didn't sound like she was justifying her actions, simply stating a fact. Michael had the feeling Akavi wasn't the type of person who justified anything she did. She was a shameless sociopath.

                Why did this thought delight him so?


	4. And Then

                "Where can you promise me safety?" He asked. He wasn't sure what tone he said it with, it seemed more like a mixture of hostility, curiosity, and downright exhaustion. Akavi tilted her head at him. Neither of them blinked for several long moments. Michael got the faint impression that she was listening for something.

                "Anywhere but here," she said in a soft voice. Michael narrowed his eyes.

                "I like it here."

                "Then stay here." She shrugged lightly. "But this is not where they are." Michael scowled at her openly. She had a way of leading a conversation so that she always kept him asking for more. She never gave enough information without prompting. He didn't like it much, but he supposed it was part of her character, too deeply ingrained, not only for her to be aware of it, but also for her to free herself from it. It wasn't really that much of a hindrance, but it was kind of annoying.

                Finally he sighed and asked, "Who?"

                "Laurie's son and his family." Why had he not been expecting that? It shocked him that she was so well-informed. It shouldn't have. She was obviously very high on the Druid hierarchy. She knew more than she let on, and that was quite a lot. Not that he meant that as an insult. She acted very well-informed, but it was obvious she knew more than just what he assumed she knew.

                But why was he justifying any of it? Why did he care if he insulted her? Because she had an edge on him, perhaps. He hated that.

                "I'm not winning any points with you, am I?" Something about the way she said it gave it an insulting lilt. She guarded herself well.

                "Why should you care?" He hadn't really expected himself to say this. The reaction he got wasn't expected either.

                "I care where I stand with the most beloved of Thurisaz," said Akavi in a neutral tone. Then she laughed, and the sound of her laugh made him want to smile, and that made him angry, but he still couldn't help enjoying the sound of it. He couldn't stop himself from that.

                He refused to give her the satisfaction of asking what she found so humorous. She refused to explain herself without him asking. Her sudden laughter went unquestioned and unanswered.

                That deeply bothered Michael.

                "The Arkinaz will come for you here," she said, breaking the lingering silence. "They'll come in force." Michael frowned. He didn't immediately respond. He was very powerful, both physically and telepathically, but he was far from stupid. Akavi was perhaps just as smart. It probably would have shocked her stricken if he'd said something typically masculine like "I can handle them." But he didn't. He didn't have an ego to nurture, and he didn't need one to make him feel masculine.

                "Silvyn was relatively weak," was all he said. Akavi grinned, he could feel her do it as much as he saw it.

                "Weak but ambitious, as are most of his clan. There are a few strong ones, but they've got their heads too far up their own asses to see how much the odds are against them." Something about the wording combined with Akavi's sarcastic tone made Michael want to grin. He was able to suppress that urge, though.

                "Aren't you supposed to be unbiased?" He wondered, and for the first time, he let a slight mocking tone slip into his voice.

                "This isn't my real job. I don't give a damn how I'm supposed to be acting. I'd kill off the Arkinaz without regrets if it was allowed, but it isn't. And to be honest, I don't like many of your Jerai, either. At least _some_ of them are acceptable." Michael felt torn between agreeing with her and arguing with her. He felt a certain, disdainful loyalty for his clan, despite the fact that he didn't like them at all. Perhaps it was Thorn who made him feel so committed.

                "Have you not finished Thorn's work yet?" Something darkened in Akavi's eyes. He wondered if she thought he was questioning her ability. He hadn't meant for that to happen, and he certainly wasn't one to talk, considering his incompetence with his own job, but he wasn't about to correct himself.

                "I'll never be finished with Thurisaz. My first task, yes, it has long been complete. Now I am his Oracle." Michael tilted his head.

                "Oracles are myth." He said it almost without thinking. Then he cursed himself. Since when had he ever spoken so brashly? But that wasn't the only thing he was cursing. Akavi's eyes narrowed. For a brief moment, she looked like she wanted to tear his eyes out. He wished he hadn't angered her. Then he cursed himself for wishing that. Then all thought stopped.

                Akavi folded her legs beneath her and rose up on her knees in the roomy seat. She leaned over the armrests, placing one hand on the dashboard and one on his seat, and leaned forward until she was just inches away… Inches that seemed to stretch too far. Too far for him. He wanted her closer, but he dared not move to make it so. He wanted to touch her, but a part of his mind kept screaming at him to draw a knife, a dagger, _any__ sort of sharp object that would get her away_. But he didn't _want_ her away. He didn't understand why that part of him was keeping him from closing the mere inch or so that separated them. Why it did it fight the lust he felt for this magnificent creature? And she hovered there, just far enough to taunt him. He could see the startling paleness of her gray eyes. Very intense eyes. He could feel the heat of her body, smell her intoxicating scent, and hear her heartbeat. She was moving closer, very very slowly.

                "Am I a myth, Michael?" She whispered, finally breaking the suffocating silence. But the silence wasn't the only thing that was suffocating. He felt like he was drowning in lust, feral and delightful. How long had it been since he'd had a woman? Five years? Ten? He'd always found a willingness in them that he'd never been able to explain. Maybe Thurisaz had made it so, to keep him from losing what was left of his sanity – or his humanity.

                Was Akavi feeling that allure that had made him so desirable to other women? Was she just teasing him for her own sake – for he didn't doubt she could be that cruel – or was her strong connection with Thorn making him twice as tempting, so that she literally _couldn't_ escape it?

                "You are a gift," he murmured with sudden clarity. She drew even closer, until a shallow breath could have caused them to touch. And then Akavi blinked. She looked like she was coming out of a daze, and Michael imagined he looked the same way. And he was screaming silently for her to fall back into the daze. But she wouldn't.

                "I am no _gift_," she growled, leveling a glare at him that might have killed a weaker man. As it were, he fought hard to keep from flinching. The car seemed hazy with strong emotions, both hers and Michael's. It was like a thick perfume, and it made him almost drowsy. But Akavi's anger burned rapidly through the calm silence. Michael didn't think it wise to say anything, lest he provoke her. And he _definitely_ didn't want to do that. He couldn't dream of destroying such an incredible potential mate, and he didn't want to think he could do it, but if she launched herself at him with harmful intentions, he doubted he'd be able to stop himself from killing her.

                "Are you coming with me or not?" She snapped, falling back to business with a cool air. Michael nodded. "Then I'm driving." It was almost a command, and the first she'd given him. He felt shockingly inclined to follow her orders and not only did this anger him, it worried him as well. And he really didn't want to do it. Ego or no ego, he strongly disliked being bossed around by _anybody_.

                But she was already out of the car, circling around the front again. For a brief instant, he entertained the idea of running her over, but it was quickly smothered. He grudgingly relinquished his seat, circled the car, and slid into the passenger side. It made him grumpy, that he felt like he was taking orders from her as if he were a puppy. But that was the punishment for telling her what he was thinking, wasn't it? Thurisaz had told him, in no uncertain terms, that she was meant as a gift for him.

                She was the independent type. He could see why she took offense to being deigned as a 'gift' for someone, especially him. He didn't quite think that having Thurisaz hand her over to a maniacal sociopath like a belated Christmas present – "Oh yeah, this is for you." – was something Akavi really enjoyed.

                He felt like kicking himself, and he hadn't felt like that in a long time. He shouldn't have said it. He should have just gone with his instinct and kissed her. Years of not speaking, and he finally decided to get talkative at exactly the wrong moment. Well done.

                While he was deeply engrossed in his self-berating, Michael's mind drifted from the outside world. He receded into himself to sort out his thoughts, and he lost track of what road they were on, then what town they were in, then what time it was, since darkness had descended. Then he ceased to care.

                Akavi stayed silent and irritable. Michael didn't bother her. He did, however, often catch himself staring. Every time they passed a streetlight, and the eerie blue or rusty orange glow filled the car's interior, Michael's gaze flicked to Akavi. Gradually, her frown lessened. By that time, either she'd managed to accept his words, or convince herself he'd been lying. He hoped it wasn't the latter.

                "Where are we going?" He finally asked, hours later, after the tension had finally eased to almost nothing. He felt a certain loss at having been forced to ask this question, but anxiety had made him impatient. His thoughts had moved back to the outer world.

                "To Cavalier," she replied. Her answer was short, but her tone made it clear she did not mean to be offensive. She was simply answering.

                "What is in Cavalier?"

                "A lot of things, all bunched together like a big ball of irony."

                "Care to explain that?" Akavi glanced at him, and a small smile crept over her lips. It gave Michael some satisfaction in seeing that.

                "Your nephew lives there. So do the leaders of both the Arkinaz and the Jerai clans, _and_ the Druid Council." Michael raised his eyebrows at her. That was most definitely irony, though he could just as easily have thought it to be one of those 'preordained' types of things.

                "We're being followed," he murmured. His eyes had been tracking the sleek black car behind them for several minutes. Something in the way they drove made his suspicion rise.

                "They're mine," she replied. He tilted his head at her. "My companions."

                "Or bodyguards," he suggested.

                "They're much more to me than that." Something in the way she said this made Michael narrow his eyes. He didn't like how she spoke of her two very handsome, very male friends. Then he stopped, and he almost laughed at himself. Was he getting _possessive_? Of all the crazy things, Michael Myers was now jealous of two unknown strangers, jealous of competition for a woman he'd known for less than a week.

                Would he have to fight them for her? Was he willing to do that? The answer to this was more complicated than usual, because in saying that he'd fight for her, that meant that he was willing to take harm for her, something that bordered too closely on valiance for him to seriously consider. But to say that he wouldn't fight for her, if it ever came to fighting, was to say that he didn't want her.

                And he really, _really_ wanted her.

                Michael shifted impatiently. When had he gotten so fucking impatient? He'd spent years staring at walls, completely immersed in his own mind, and never fidgeted so much as once. But now, he found it hard to sit still for more than an hour. It unnerved him greatly that being so close to Akavi took so much of his concentration away.

                His thoughts fell on his nephew, his pain-in-the-ass sister's son.

                "I'll kill them tonight," he decided aloud, keeping his voice low and unobtrusive. Akavi shrugged.

                "Do what you will," she said evenly. For some reason, despite the fact that he had no cause to believe so, he sensed that she wasn't happy with his decision.

                "You disapprove?" He wondered mildly, keeping his temper very carefully in check. For some reason, the prospect of _her_ disapproval irked him more than his being disapproved of. 

                "I am tired," she replied.

                "You didn't answer my question," he pressed softly. Akavi sighed.

                "Yes," she said. "I disapprove because it will attract unwanted attention. We don't need that, not with the prospect of a full clan war hanging over our heads already." Michael stared at her.

                "You want me to _not_ kill them?" He demanded.

                "Of course not," Akavi snapped. "But you could use some subtlety." Michael fought back the urge to tell her not to give him advice on how to murder, and instead, he crossed his arms.

                "The way I do it gets the job done," he muttered.

                "The way you do it pumps your victims full of adrenaline and ups their chances of getting away, or retaliating," a memory flashed through Michael's mind of hanging by his wrists, suspended from electrical wire, in a pool of blood, surrounded by a roaring fire. He shut his eyes. "The way I do it, they don't realize it's being done, and they don't know I'm the enemy, and they never get the chance to run away."

                "I couldn't do it your way," said Michael, as if he were stating a simple fact.

                "You could learn from my way." Michael fought the urge to argue with her just for the sake of putting up a fight. He felt like a pushover, and that wasn't something he was used to. Akavi had a knife in his mind, twisting and turning it to drive him to the brink of insanity. She was being manipulative, assertive.

                Or maybe she was just being a woman.

                "If you want me to wait, I will," he finally said, with difficulty that was plainly obvious in his voice. Akavi smirked.

                "That's almost too considerate of you for me to take seriously," she said with a chuckle. Michael glared at her. This had the exact opposite effect, and she started laughing. He was, once again, torn between two actions: throwing her out of the speeding car, and crawling on top of her and devouring her.

                He settled for doing neither.

                "You _are_ human, Michael, no matter how much you don't want to be," said Akavi with a seriousness that completely caught him off guard. His scowl faltered, returning almost automatically to that expression of calm blankness. He'd lived in that expression for almost half a century. It hadn't failed him yet.

                "You don't like how much I know about you," she murmured. Michael didn't bother nodding. "Haven't you wondered why I know so much?"

                "Yes."

                "But you're not going to ask me why." It wasn't a question.

                "No." Akavi glanced at him and smirked. Michael kept his blank expression, and he was proud of being able to do so.

                "Very well," he wondered for a brief instant if she was going to play stubborn and just not tell him, but then she continued: "It's Thurisaz. Through it, we share a… bond, of sorts, stronger than most human mates share." Michael let a small flame of excitement well up in him, enjoying the simple feeling before he smothered it completely. "It happens with all of us, and it's not just one-way." She sent him a pointed look. "I'm sure you could evaluate me just as easily as I've evaluated you, if you cared to try."

                "I don't," he said, before he could let himself register any meaning deeper than the simple words she'd spoken. Akavi didn't seem ruffled. She looked like she'd expected it, even.

                "Then you're missing out," she had a grin in her voice that she didn't let manifest on her lips. Something about the way she said it made Michael think of a world of unexplored possibilities. She was straightforward, this one, but to a very tasteful degree. She wasn't about to up and offer him anything. She wanted to play first.

                It had been a while since he'd been in the game, but that wasn't about to stop him. In fact, he hungered for it.

                "Perhaps I'm just biding my time," he murmured in reply. He could feel Akavi's eyes on him, but he continued to stare out the window. Maybe he didn't want to see what was concealed in that gaze. It had been too long. He'd never felt so vulnerable. He stayed silent.

                "Perhaps you're afraid." The instant she said it, they both knew it was a mistake, but Akavi refused to show fear. She went back to staring at the road, as every muscle in Michael's body tensed. The hatred he'd shoved to the back of his mind swelled again, taking priority. He wanted to kill her, no question about that, but he wanted to do more than just kill her; he wanted her to _suffer_. It wasn't a small urge, it was almost overwhelming.

                This time, instead of that little voice in his head screaming for him to attack her, it was screaming at him to get away. Far away, in case he did permanent damage. As he glared at Akavi, he could see that she was tense as well, on the defensive, waiting for an attack almost as if she expected it. As she should; his anger filled the car with hate and warmth. She would have been a fool not to sense it.

                As he glared at her, he knew that her insult wasn't going to fade. He wasn't going to forgive her for it, and the longer he stayed near her, the more he wanted to cause her intense, unimaginable _pain_. And the more he thought about that, the more he wanted to get away to _avoid_ causing her said pain.

                Without warning, Michael unlocked his door, grabbed the handle, and shoved the car door open as far as it would go. Akavi cursed loudly and swerved as a blast of wind roared in through the doorway. She turned her gaze to Michael at the same time he jumped out of the car, flying through the air to land on solid concrete at seventy-three miles per hour.


	5. Thurisaz

                The car door slammed shut with such force it almost caused Akavi to barrel into the car to her left. She cursed again, slamming her hands on the steering wheel. In her rearview mirror, she saw Michael's body roll to a stop, and he lay there, motionless, until she turned a bend. Without a second thought, she slammed on the breaks and pulled completely off the highway, cursing fluently in both English and French as she jumped out of the car and set of at a fast sprint back to where Michael had stopped. Behind her, another car screeched to a halt on the side of the highway, and Cain and Feran started to get out.

                "Stay there," Akavi shouted over her shoulder, projecting her voice over the blaring horns and the roar of speeding passersby. She lowered her voice and muttered, "I'll take care of him."

                Michael came into view, still lying deathly still on the pavement. Again Akavi cursed. The force of his impact would have liquidated all of his internal organs. If he was dead, there would be Hell to pay.

                Akavi was maybe one hundred yards from Michael's body when he sat up. She nearly lost her balance. Gods, was he _really_ that powerful?

                He looked at her. She was two-hundred feet away, and had stopped running. Without difficulty, he got to his feet. He turned and started walking calmly into the forest. Akavi growled.

                "Michael, don't run from me," she snapped, sprinting up to him just in time to see his form disappear into the thick woods. "Goddamn it, Michael, get back here!" She peered into the dark forest, but there was no sign of him. Maybe she could have seen something in daylight, but the car headlights weren't enough.

                "FUCK YOU, MYERS!!" She screamed. "YOU'RE AFRAID, YOU PSYCHOTIC BASTARD, I KNOW IT!" But he did not return.

                Akavi let out a deep breath. This wasn't like her at all. She wasn't a screamer. She was calm. She was more controlled than that. But something about how easily he'd walked away from her struck her deep down, like a weight dropped into her stomach.

                Michael Myers was afraid of her. No, that wasn't right. Michael Myers was afraid of what she represented: his humanity, the possibility of having non-vindictive feelings towards someone. She'd broken through his layers, and he'd reacted like most males would have, only a bit more to the extreme.

                Now the problem lay in getting him back. And this was not going to be an easy solution. Myers had an ego that he wasn't willing to admit he had, and it was hurt, and Akavi wasn't _about_ to apologize for telling the truth. She never apologized. It was a rule, and a damn good one. It kept her dignity safe and secure. Then again, she never said anything that was wrong, so why should she need to apologize?

                Damn, that sounded arrogant.

                Cain called out to her. She turned to look for him. He was waving at her. He wanted her to come back to the car. With one last dark glare towards the trees, Akavi headed back to her companions.

                 Akavi was still deeply immersed in thought as Cain pulled into their driveway, eyes glassy as she played the scenes over in her head, again and again. He'd just walked away, like she was another one of his victims, already slain, of no more importance. Just like that.

                She didn't even bother telling herself he didn't matter. She couldn't lie to herself that easily. She'd felt a connection to him that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, even with another child of Thurisaz. It hadn't even taken her long to come to terms with how Thorn had handed her over to Michael like a wedding gift. Independent, dominant, stubborn though she may be she wasn't stupid enough to argue with her rune. And she wasn't foolish enough to think that she didn't mind.

                No, she didn't mind at all.

                "Shit," said Cain darkly, bringing Akavi back to earth with a jolt.

                "What?"

                "Coryn." That word answered it all. A dark look descended over Akavi's face. She sighed.

                Coryn was the leader of the Jerai clan. He was a tall, slender man with an almost Hispanic complexion. His hair was long, longer than Michael's, but just as curly and just as black. Coryn, however, had grown up normally, and as a result, his expressions were very alive, very vivid. He wasn't necessarily ugly, but he wasn't…

                Akavi firmly shut down that particular thought pattern.

                "Have we kept you waiting?" She asked as the three of them exited their vehicle and approached Coryn.

                "To accuse you for that would be unfair, seeing as I never told you I was coming." He was one of the few Jerai that Akavi liked, partly because of his eloquence, partly because he had a very similar sense of humor. Feran and Cain both deeply disliked him, however. She wasn't exactly sure why.

                "Come inside," she gestured, ascending the concrete staircase and pulling out the keys to her condominium. Cain kept up at her side, while Feran trailed behind Coryn. It seemed like a casual formation, one that most would easily have overlooked, but Akavi knew it was standard, and very serious, practice for her overprotective roommates.

                The condo smelled like fresh, crisp winter. It was also very cold. Akavi liked it cold. No one else did.

                "I assume you came to obtain information about your Thurisaz," she said as they all took seats in the living room. Coryn gave her an apologetic smile.

                "I can't help but notice he's not with you," he said evenly. He was very careful where he tread, this one. Experience had taught him many things about Akavi's neurotic nature.

                She smiled and shrugged lightly. "Temporary inconvenience," was all she offered him. Her voice sounded assuring. And it was honest, too. Deep down, something told her she'd find Michael again… Or perhaps he'd find her. Either way…

                Her smile became a dark grin. Coryn's eyes widened just a little. She had big plans for Myers, no use concealing that from herself. It was with a mixture of exhilaration and anger that she anticipated their rendezvous.

                "So he's here?" The man sounded anxious, pressed for time. And rightfully so. The Arkinaz were probably all but beating down his door by now. She frowned. Retiring from the political Druid circle had lightened a load of stress from Akavi's back, but it also made her feel in the dark sometimes. She wasn't completely up to date on the situation involving the conflicting clans.

                "He's in the city," she replied. Coryn raised his eyebrows.

                "He's not with you…?" Akavi sighed.

                "He proved to be…too impulsive for his own good." They looked at each other. Coryn smirked.

                "Much like yourself," he suggested cautiously. Akavi arched an eyebrow at him.

                "I'll find him," she said, as if that not only summed up, but ended the entire conversation. Coryn knew better than to say any more. He stood.

                "Goodbye, then," he gave her a nod, though it seemed to her he was having difficulty not breaking down in a fit of anxiety over the mysterious whereabouts of his Thurisaz. He said his farewells to Cain and Feran, and was out the door.

                Michael took care in staying away from major roads. He moved through thick forest relying solely on his sense of direction. An hour or so of walking and he stumbled upon the suburbs. Hundreds of houses lined the streets, all quiet and sleepy. He didn't pause. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going, but wherever it was, he was going there with a vengeance.

                Anger still coursed through him. He hated Akavi for what she'd said. He was afraid of nothing. He had no humanity left in him. What he'd been feeling was a trick of his mind. She'd manipulated him, twisted him around her finger so tightly he couldn't feel it happening.

                Michael stopped. He was at an intersection. But that wasn't why he stopped.

                He stopped because he wanted to laugh. He saw a bitterly ironic humor in those egotistical thoughts. He hated himself for having to fall back on Akavi as his scapegoat when he no longer knew how to properly explain his feelings to himself. But he did it almost without thinking.

                Akavi claimed that he was afraid of her.

                And despite all of his male instincts, which were screaming against it, he couldn't help but admit to himself that she was probably right.

                He'd always assumed Thorn had given him a neutral view of his life. He'd always assumed Thorn belonged to him as much as he belonged to Thorn. Akavi had changed more than just his opinions. She'd changed the very way he reflected upon his life. Everything he'd done for all these years, he'd done out of pure bloodlust. He'd held himself to thinking that Thorn gave him this carnal urge.

                It had always been him.

                Akavi killed, Michael killed, both in the name of something much more powerful than themselves. But there was a difference there that buzzed in his head like a rancid little fly. A difference that set them apart by miles. Michael _wanted_ to kill. Akavi _needed_ to kill. Michael did it to sate an urge that he couldn't put into words. Akavi turned it into an art.

                She was his opposite in almost every way.

                A car was approaching. Michael was still standing in the middle of the intersection. He entertained the idea of commandeering the advancing vehicle, but an urge to track down Akavi had surfaced in his mind and it was too overwhelming to fight.

                He sighed. The car zoomed past. Music blasted from the open windows.

                As he watched the headlights fade into darkness, he turned down a second road, heading in the direction the small voice in his head was telling him to go. Passing beneath a streetlight, he looked up to see snowflakes drifting idly towards him. He smiled. 


	6. Damn you

AN: I'm still alive, if anyone's still interested in this story.

Sleep had never come easily to Akavi. Over the years, she'd grown accustomed to the half-conscious gray blur into which she descended every night. In part, she was thankful for it. She could still remember her dreams from when she was a child. Night terrors, the doctors had called them. She could remember seeing their faces, empty eyes, clawing fingers. And their screams.

At the time, she couldn't have realized how her future would be shaped around these terrifying visions.

She'd never stopped thanking Thurisaz for taking those nightmares away.

As it were, sleep was determined to avoid her tonight. She lay in bed for hours without so much as dozing. Still, her eyelids never grew heavy. Her thoughts were simply too scrambled to allow her any rest. Her mind was buzzing with Michael and the Druid war and the Council and Silvyn…

At 2 am. it started snowing. Fluffy white flakes drifting slowly and quietly down over her windows. Still, she couldn't sleep.

She sat up, crossing her legs beneath her, and switched on the bedside lamp. A smile lit her face. She'd always liked snow. It was as quiet as death, and though she knew how cliché it sounded for her to compare them like that, she clung to it nevertheless. She loved both. They gave her peace, or as much peace as she could get.

Her thoughts turned to Michael, and she wished they hadn't. She hated not being able to control her thought pattern, but Thorn loved to do that to her, usually as often as possible. She let the sound of his voice play inside her head and sighed.

She'd given up fighting a long time ago. Fighting whatever it was that drove her to do whatever it wished. Perhaps that was because her master was by nature a neutral rune. It had slowly squeezed the fight out of her, the urge to find something other than the future that lay in this bloody world. Hell, she knew she'd been born to kill. She knew this was where she most belonged. This was what she did best.

But she could still remember the look on Kalai's face the day the Council made the decision. The day the clan of Perthro chose Akavi to be the clan's Thurisaz. The day Kalai lost all hope that Akavi would grow up to be a priestess, like herself.

In every sense, Akavi was the perfect choice, abandoned by her mother shortly after birth and left in old Kalai's care, to grow in power and cunning under the High Priestess's watch. She'd grown up hating her family and clinging to the old beliefs, isolated from the world's corruption and shunned by most of the clan.

But that hadn't stopped Kalai from hoping. And those hopes had been dashed. Akavi could still remember seeing the tears on old Kalai's face as she was led to the Council to receive the Curse.

She hadn't had a very large family. This had also played a part in everything. Shortly after her father had raped her mother, the end result of which would ultimately produce Akavi herself, the Perthroi clan had cursed him with sterility and misfortune. Her mother had moved to the east coast to live out her life in quiet solitude with her oldest son, Matthias, the child of her union with a man long dead. Then there were Akavi's two uncles, brothers of her mother, who each had a child and a wife. Also, the matter of Akavi's three living grandparents.

Her task had been relatively easy, unlike Michael's, whose family was relatively large and widely dispersed.

Where had she been going with this?

Oh, yes, the fact that for the greater part of her adolescence, she'd constantly questioned the futility of the blood-stained life which she lived. Kalai, whom Akavi loved more than anything, had been forced to watch Akavi grow up to murder twelve people in cold blood, despite the fact that some of them had been murdered indirectly - that is, without physical aid from Akavi.

Akavi had never asked for Thurisaz. But she had accepted it, and grown to love it. And Kalai could do nothing to protect her all-but-biological daughter from the most destructive of runes. For Perthro, the rune of mystery and the future, had no power against the rune of protection and willpower.

And so, Michael's voice played in her head, and she allowed it to. It gave her chills, and she liked them, but she didn't like that she liked them. And she didn't like the feeling she was suddenly overwhelmed by. She knew the feel of a gaze as if it were a physical thing that she probably could have identified in the dark. She was being watched.

Her gaze found the steady read glow of the alarm clock. Four in the morning. Her limbs ached from sitting still for so long. Snow still fell in blanketing silence outside of the windows.

"You treat me as if I'm a common victim, Michael," she murmured, turning her head only slightly to regard the door to the walk-in closet, hidden by shadow. "Easy to sneak up on, easier to dispatch? I feel hurt." Dropping his cover, Michael strode out of the blackness and up to the bed. He leaned over her and glared darkly at her.

"How is it that you thwart me at every turn?" He demanded. "You know where I am. What I'm doing. How I'm doing it. Why?" Akavi allowed a small grin to escape her blank expression.

"Would you like to sit down? You must have been waiting outside for hours." She felt his anger pour over her like hot air rushing out of a cracked oven. It made her smile widen. She wasn't going to give him all the answers he demanded just because he demanded them. He was beginning to realize that, he to whom nothing had ever been denied. And he was pissed.

"Woman, why do you taunt me so?" He hissed, lunging forward in a blur of speed to grab her shoulders with his iron grip. His hands were ice cold. She could feel it through her sleeves. The look in his eyes reminded her of the center of a fire, a frigid blue, deceiving in its innocence. His teeth were bared. He was furious.

Akavi felt a thrill of adrenaline enter her bloodstream. Her limbs came to life. Her senses doubled in sharpness. His hands grew colder on her arms.

"Are you in my head?" He was asking. "Conjured by Thorn to motivate or infuriate me? To make me suffer? How do you know my thoughts? How do you know who I am?" His grip on her had strengthened with each question until she couldn't help but wince from the pain.

"If you break me in half, I will be unable to answer any of your questions," she said through gritted teeth.

"If I let you live, you won't answer them anyway," he retorted. "What do I have to lose?" She choked out a laugh. She reached out her hands and started pushing against his chest.

"You don't want to kill me, Michael. You just want to reclaim your dominance." Either her words or her touch were convincing him to back off, and his grip was beginning to lessen. She suddenly became aware of the smooth, warm, unyielding muscles of his chest beneath her hands. She pushed the thought aside. Quickly.

"I'll give you some answers," she relented, giving him a gentle push and settling back against her headboard. "No more random attacking, though. I don't take kindly to that sort of thing in my own home." He watched her steadily for a few more moments, and then gave the slightest of nods, settling down at the foot of the bed, eyes fixed upon her.

"Two questions," she stated. "Choose wisely." For a moment, he looked like he wanted to stand back up, or demand more, or just pout. Then his eyes narrowed.

"You say we are linked by Thorn. Why is it that I never knew of your existence?" Akavi sighed.

"Two reasons: because I never made nearly as much of a fuss over it as you did, and because you never bothered to try."

"So I'm careless?" She grinned. Was he baiting her? Looking for an excuse to kill her?

"How many times have you been shot? Stabbed? Killed?" He glowered at her.

"Don't answer a question with a question," he muttered.

"But in your answer, you find my answer. You are careless with your life and your work because you choose to be, because you know the consequences and will face them. I am not, by any means, a cautious person. But our type of death is an experience I'd rather not suffer through more times than are completely necessary." She tilted her head at him. "In a way, that makes you stronger than me."

"In a brawns versus brains way, perhaps." Was that self-degradation she was hearing? From Michael Myers?

"Death is not something that bodily strength can prepare us for. Muscles are not something that can help us withstand it." On a sudden whim, an unspoken urge, Akavi pushed up from her sitting position and moved closer to him. "You spent over a decade staring at a _wall, _Michael. That you can endure death says something about you that I have not yet said. You have a superior mental strength that surpasses even mine. Perhaps, even the Council's."

"Shut up, Akavi," Michael snapped. "No matter what you say, it doesn't change the fact that I'm here. I came here. I came crawling back like a dejected puppy." Akavi frowned. She hadn't thought of it like that. Was he really so spiteful towards himself that he might think every action to be an action of submission or defeat?

Why had he said that? Why had he voiced such an unconfident opinion to her? Didn't he distrust her? Didn't he hate her? Didn't he want to escape her?

"I don't have time to coddle you, Michael," she growled, "so I'll make this quick; I don't think you realize the power you hold over me, or them. And you're too busy questioning your ego - or lack thereof - to fully comprehend the magnitude of what you really are." She was getting the faint impression of déjà vu. "Haven't I already told you that you're Thurisaz's most favored child? Do you understand what that means, or do you just like hearing me talk?"

"Don't bait me, Akavi." Twice now, he'd said her name. This was a new development. It had never happened before. Was he warning her?

"Then tell me why you think you're here." Silence. There was a gentle wind outside, sending swirls of white over the balcony. The snow was at least three inches thick by now. Michael was watching her still, eyes intensely focused on whatever it was he saw when he looked at her.

His lips twisted into a smirk. "Maybe I'm here to collect my prize," he said softly.

Anger unfurled within her. She felt her pulse speed up instantly. Her glare came back full force.

"For your sake, you'd better not be talking about Thurisaz's gift," she growled. Suddenly, the foot or so that separated them seemed mere inches. His smirk became a maniacal grin.

"You know what Thurisaz meant. Are you in denial, Akavi?" She balled her hands into fists, head pounding. Her anger was consuming her. How dare he bring that up? How dare he think of her as his possession, his _trinket_!

Then, without warning, he lunged for her.


	7. Death

With the little time she had to react, all Akavi managed to do was throw her hands up to soften the blow as he crushed her with his weight. Her head slammed backwards into the headboard with a resounding crack. Pain burst through her head, and her sight shattered into a million balls of light. She cried out, but her voice died away as Michael's hands encircled her throat. He closed them over her pulse in a grip of iron and leaned forward on his knees to peer closely at her with those hollow, skeletal eyes.

"You've made me doubt everything I was," he growled. His voice seemed to come to her through a haze, a mist of deafness. Black spots were forming at the edge of her vision. Her head throbbed like it had been split open. She felt the back of her shirt as it stuck to her skin. Wet with blood. Gods, it hurt. "Open your eyes, Akavi." She obeyed. "You've made me question my purpose, forced me to rethink my morals." Morals? She wanted to laugh, but had not the strength. Since when did Michael Myers have morals?

Maybe in his own way, he did. Maybe in a way that even she would be unable to comprehend.

"If I kill you, what will you think of me?" She blinked. Her vision was darkening; she couldn't make out his face. Her limbs were dead to her, numb and lifeless. Had he actually said that? Or had she just imagined those words? "Will you curse me for it? Will you hate me for it?"

He released his grip. Oxygen flooded back into her and she cried out again. Millions of tiny daggers sliced into the tender flesh of her muscles as blood pumped through her limbs once more. Her vision cleared slightly.

"No," she whispered, though it pained her immensely to do so. She took deep, slow breaths to keep from hyperventilating. Every beat of her heart caused a sledge hammer to deliver a blow straight into the back of her head. Gods, had he broken the fucking headboard on her skull!

"No? You will not despise me for bringing upon you the one thing you fear?" She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could inspect her wound, but Michael's hands had taken hold of her wrists and now had them captured in his grip.

"I do not fear death," she murmured, "I hate it." Michael's eyes widened slightly. Was that a grin playing on his blurry features?

"Hate and fear are often closely intertwined," he mused.

"Thurisaz keeps them well separated. I do not fear that which I hate." She paused, because a thin line of blood had curled its way over her shoulder and Michael had released one of her wrists to touch it. Then he raised his head and nodded for her to continue. "I loath the stillness, the silence, the utter… loneliness, of death. It is my hell. Eternity in that is Hell."

"And you do not fear an eternity of Hell?"

"No." She sighed. "I prepare myself for it."

There was something about her that pulled at him, nagged, perhaps. She never failed to amuse him, and to impress him. Here she was, pinned beneath him, moments after having sustained a wound that to any normal human would have been fatal, recovering from being nearly strangled to death as well. She looked ready to faint, and he feared it would be so, but every time her eyes wandered shut, she reopened them. Unfocused, pale, colorless eyes.

Much like his.

But how was it possible that she had seen death? Seen in it, what she would spend eternity immersed in? For him, it had been as if waking from sleep, stiff and uncomfortable, but oblivious to his dreams. He'd never seen the home of Death itself. Had he really died, or simply… regenerated?

Did that make her stronger, or more favored, that she should be granted the sight of eternity when he, who'd died numerous times, had never been given even the slightest of glimpses?

But no, for she'd clearly said that he was the favored one. Not her. Perhaps Thurisaz had protected him from seeing Death. Perhaps he'd never paid any attention to it. Perhaps she was making it all up just to screw with him.

He wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Everything led to Akavi, every trail, every idol wonder. His mind was determined to focus on the creature beneath him, struggling to maintain a relatively serene façade, despite the paralyzing pain she must be experiencing. He was in awe of her. Not because she was in pain, but because she still did not fear him.

Could he never make her fear him? Would he fail in that as well?

"You have seen Death. Why haven't I?" She blinked up at him, and the paleness of her eyes was drowned by the black void of her pupils. She probably couldn't see him clearly. But she smirked. By the runes, the woman couldn't suppress her sardonic humor even at the brink of death.

"Have you ever cared to look?" Michael felt fury boil up within him again, at the rhetorical question, at her humor. Down and almost out, half-conscious, and she still had an edge over him. Her knowledge of what she felt he should have known, but didn't. Her damned superior attitude. How could someone so annoying be so… fascinating?

A loud crash came from behind them. Michael turned. The door was smashed in, and Akavi's two lovely little bodyguards were squeezing through the splintering hole to get into the room.

"Michael, get off her," the first to get through the broken door growled.

"Where were you when I needed you, incompetent fools?" Akavi muttered from beneath Michael, who cast a dark glare down at her, though he couldn't help but smirk. "Go find me some painkillers," she snapped. "And leave him alone."

The one who'd spoken seemed to falter in mid-stride. "He's trying to kill you, Kavi," he protested.

"Done a fine job of it so far, hasn't he?" At this, Michael leaned down close to her and grinned.

"I may yet succeed," he murmured. She raised an eyebrow. Already, her pupils were returning to their normal size as the concussion began to wear off. Her sight was returning to normal. And so was her strength. He could feel her testing his grip around her wrists, ever so gently. Blood had soaked into her pillow, creating a dark halo around her head.

_Fitting,_ Michael thought with a smirk.

"If you would be so kind as to release me, I would be eternally grateful," she said with a wry smirk.

"I might be willing to make a compromise," he replied with a tilt of his head. "Let me stay around for a while." He saw her narrow her eyes and he grinned mischievously. "I promise to behave."

She was silent for several moments, calculating, considering. The bodyguards stayed completely still. The silence hung in the air like a tense, heavy fog.

Finally, Akavi sighed. "Alright, you can stay, now get off me."

The bottle of Tylenol rattled in her hand as she turned it over to read the directions. Two caplets every four to six hours. She tossed the bottled back into the medicine cabinet and slammed the door shut.

"Guess I shouldn't have taken seven, eh?" She eyed Cain as he handed her a glass of water.

"Probably not the best idea," he agreed with a shrug. "Not like it'll kill you," he smirked, "might knock you out though."

"I can't wait." She cast a dark look towards Cain, who waited at the counter with a damp cloth and a grimace on his face. When he motioned for her to take a seat, she reluctantly obeyed, sinking down onto the barstool with a wince. Her gaze found Ferun, staring darkly towards Michael from beside the sink.

"Why don't you sit down?" She asked irritably. He turned that hateful glare on her and it softened. She started to smile, but it turned into a wince as Cain pressed the washcloth to the back of her head.

"I don't like this," Ferun stated. He glanced at Michael again. "I don't like having him here."

"Would you rather I locked him in the closet?" She managed to smirk through the pain that lanced out from the base of her skull and washed over her head until it encompassed her eyes. Tiny white points of light danced where Ferun's face was supposed to be.

"If only that blow had rid you of your wit and humor," Ferun mused darkly. "I might actually be congratulating him."

"Despite how much I might resemble a wall or some sort of inanimate object, I am here, present, and would appreciate being spoken to directly," Michael noted with a casual tone. Akavi saw the hatred flicker in Ferun's glare, but she couldn't mask her grin.

"Ah, pity, you'd make such a lovely centerpiece on the dining room table," she leered brightly.

"You don't have a dining room."

"Maybe I _should_ lock you in a closet," she muttered.

"I'm sure your wardrobe would be delightful," he mocked.

"This, coming from you?" She snarled. Before she realized it, she was out of her seat. Cain was closest. He grabbed her arm and firmly pulled her back down onto the stool.

"Listen to the two of you, bickering like you're children again," Cain scolded. Akavi shot him a dark glare, but he was grinning that impulsive, innocent grin again, and she couldn't bring herself to snap at him.

"I must have touched a nerve," Michael murmured idly. Akavi looked around for something to throw at him, but Ferun had already pulled the knife block out of reach, so she settled for scowling at him.

"Keep it up and you'll be sleeping on the balcony."

"Which might be preferable, considering the mess your bedroom is in." This time, Akavi went for the cutting board, flinging it at him recklessly. He leapt from his seat just in time to avoid being beamed across the head. The board slammed against the wall behind him.

"You arrogant, brainless imbecile!" She seethed, jumping from her chair and in her haste, throwing it to the ground. She advanced on him, hands balled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. He stood there motionless as she approached. "How dare you attempt to provoke me over something that's completely _your_ fault!" She stopped in front of him and waited for his retort.

Michael reached out and took her face in his hands so gently, she was taken aback. Confusion rendered her speechless. She met his gaze. His eyes were solemn; there was no trace of mockery or laughter in them. He leaned forward until he was less than inches away, his lips so dreadfully close to hers she thought she might faint.

"So you are human," he murmured.


End file.
